


The Forgotten Song

by RuneOak



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuneOak/pseuds/RuneOak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Because that was what he had to do. That was what he always did. He had to wait. He did not know what he was waiting for, but for the first time in quite a while he had felt like his wait might soon be coming to an end.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forgotten Song

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Look at that - my second longest fic ever! Written for the [](http://merlinreversebb.livejournal.com/36034.html)**merlinreversebb**.  
>  Got a bunch of thank you notes to deliver:  
> First and foremost, thank you [Alby_mangroves](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Alby_Mangroves/pseuds/Alby_Mangroves) for everything from picking up this amazing prompt, the gorgeous and hugely inspiring art, all the way to doing the posting for us.  
> Thank you [Brunettepet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brunettepet/pseuds/Brunettepet) for the beta and all the feedback – you’re awesome. (Psst, sorry for almost pouncing on you out of the blue!).  
> Also, [Aeris444](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeris444/pseuds/Aeris444), someday I’m going to write something without troubling you about it, but this was not that day. Thanks bb!  
> Thank you my friends R and A, as well as all of you at [](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://merlin-writers.livejournal.com/)**merlin_writers** , for listening to me flail/whine/crib/rejoice all through.  
> Finally, thank you [](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/)**chosenfire28** for the fest! My first MRBB - I had fun =)

Arthur struggled to open his eyes. He liked that state of peaceful slumber that he had been in moments ago, his mind at peace with the world, his feelings swayed only by a seamless dream. He felt like it had been a good dream. He frowned slightly while trying to remember what it was about. He was sure that something important had been said, something that he knew but could not seem to remember at that instant. It didn't matter. It wasn't worth breaking his peace.

He hadn't opened his eyes yet, but he knew it was daylight. There was a dulled harmony of colour behind his eyelids, which had been absent for a long time. He felt good, though. Rested. Almost like he was floating. His muscles protested when he tried to open his eyes. His body felt like he hadn't moved for a thousand years. That can't be right, he had only closed his eyes for a-

Arthur scrambled to collect all his thoughts that were trying to run away, alarmed, all the words eluding him thus far rushing back to him in a cacophony of images. Morgana's army, Camelot's flag, Guinevere, Camlann, Mordred stabbing him, him stabbing Mordred, Gaius-

Merlin.

His servant. His friend.

A sorcerer.

Doesn't matter, he chided himself. That thought pulled up one last picture. Although, the picture was entirely black. It was the voice that came with it that caused him to stand up in a hurry.

_Time to rise again, Arthur Pendragon. You are needed. Your destiny awaits._

He finally opened his eyes

***

  
"Excuse me, sir?"

He was startled out of his latest bout of staring into space and he turned around to look at what had interrupted him. He found a man standing near him, his face wearing an expression as if expecting his verbal acknowledgement, even though he has clearly noticed that he has at least part of his attention by now. He disliked these kinds of people the most, the ones that disturbed his peace and refused to leave him alone afterwards.

He frowned instead of replying as expected and turned back to the view before him. It wasn't much of a view, just a patch of mud and grass - rare these days in the race to build more and more massive sky-kissing concrete structures. He himself currently occupied the only and half-broken bench, hunched over in his thin coat because it was quite cold and his old bones were starting to rattle from the lack of warmth.

He would get up and leave. He had his own home these days after all, a raggedy cottage a little ways away from the urban area. Unfortunately, he had walked a long way that day, almost been run over by a truck on the way too, which had taken quite some work. He tried to remember a time when it did not seem to be any struggle at all, racing up stone staircases several times a day to...

Another elusive memory. He was getting quite tired of them, if he was being honest. He wished they would just go away altogether, save him the trouble and effort of trying to recall what felt like distant dreams he had had a long time ago.

He became aware of someone speaking somewhere close by, voice too loud. Oh, right. The man. He turned back one last time and looked. The man was trying to tell him something, voice kind but loud. He was extending his hand towards him. He looked from the other man’s hand to his face. Hair - Too dark. Height - Too tall. Build – Not as wide. It wasn't him.

Him? He did not know who he was looking for, but this wasn't the person. He tuned out of the one-sided conversation and turned back to settle down and wait.

Because that was what he had to do. That was what he always did. He had to wait. He did not know what he was waiting for, but for the first time in quite a while he had felt like his wait might soon be coming to an end.

Or maybe, once again, he was just kidding himself.  


***

 

He was in the middle of a lake.

He was in his chain mail, most of his armour, his cape hanging behind him, in the middle of a lake. He seemed to be standing on water, half submerged yet not wet. Which was good, he reckoned. He didn't want his armour getting wet. Merlin would complain again--

Merlin.

The thought of his manservant caused him to look up. Surely Merlin would be here, awaiting his arrival. Maybe he was just late; it wouldn't be the first time. The thought caused momentary amusement to Arthur.

Alright then, he thought to himself. Let's get a move on. Then I can scold him properly.

Arthur dragged himself forward, towards the shore. The water did not offer much resistance. Before long, his feet touched sand. He emerged out of the lake and stood on the shore, his booted feet reacquainting themselves with solid ground. He turned to look back at the lake, a strange feeling of home nagging at his heart. He saw the broken structure on the tiny island in the middle of the lake, feeling like he had probably reached the wrong shore.

He shook his head, forcing himself to make way for reality to set in.

He had died. He had died quite a while ago. He had been sent back to fulfil some part of his destiny that he had missed the last time. He didn't know why he had expected Merlin to be there, although that feeling had hit him again when he thought about Merlin even now after reaching the shore.

He did not know how long he had been gone, what had transpired when he had been away, but he knew he needed to find out.

It seemed strange to be doing anything without his knights or his wife beside him, but this was Arthur's destiny. With one last look at the lake, he turned and set out to face the future.  


***

  
"Merlin."

The voice penetrated the haze that his thoughts had turned into. He knew that name. He even felt like he knew that voice. He closed his eyes, trying to drag his mind back to the present instead of the images and visions of a different time that usually flashed in front of him.

He shook his head a little and blinked his eyes open. He thought he saw chain mail, a red cloak flapping in the wind, maybe hooves. But there was nothing there.

"Merlin."

There was the word again. He was sure that word meant something to him, something that was very important.  


***

  
“Excuse me, good sir,” he said, hurrying to catch up with the man. It wasn’t a struggle, the man was quite old and had a limp. He looked back to see who was talking to him. On seeing Arthur, in all his knightly attire, he paused bewildered.

“Are you out of a play?” the old man asked him before Arthur could get another word out. “You do look like a proper knight of the old times.”

“I… well yes, I am a knight,” Arthur said warily, wondering how he was supposed to explain his predicament without causing alarm.

Arthur's mind raced. He had been on the road for a few hours, and it was quite clear by now that a significant amount of time had passed since he had been around, so much so that most things he was familiar with during his time were different. Now, Arthur was no sorcerer, but he supposed that even in this time and age, people reawakening (most probably using magic, he was still not certain) from the dead was not all that common.

All things considered, he supposed it was better if he kept his head down for now and try not to act like he was not a person who had come back to life years after he had died.

“Erm, yes, I was in a play but, um, I was left behind and I might be…lost,” Arthur wanted to kick himself, he should have thought about his strategies before entering this battle. He did not expect the old man to fall for that, but to his surprise, the man seemed to accept his explanation.

“Oh, well the nearest town is that way about 9 miles down this road,” he said, pointing the way Arthur had been going already. Arthur had already deduced that. He had seen the cluster of buildings, although they had looked very strange to him.

“Thank you,” he said, resolving to create a better strategy before he talked to anyone else. He turned to leave, but his eyes fell on the load that the man was carrying. It looked quite heavy.

“Do you need some help with that?” he asked.

“Are you sure, lad?” the old man asked him, looking torn. “You need to get back to your group, don’t you?”

“No that’s no bother. They have long left. I can take that for you,” he said, holding out his hand. The man smiled at him gratefully and unloaded the bag from his back.

“No, here, I’ll divide it up,” he said. “It’s not that far away,” he continued talking while splitting the contents into two loads for Arthur to carry. “There was a time when I could make this trip with no trouble at all, but these days everything is a struggle. Age is a devil, let me tell you that,” the old man rambled on, and Arthur nodded politely at his side while following his lead. It was the opposite direction to where he was headed, but he reckoned he did not exactly have any time constraints. Or maybe he did, he didn’t know.  


***

It had been odd when the portly woman on the road had greeted him instead of looking warily like he had come to expect from people, but he hadn’t thought too much about it. The man a little way down the road had caught his notice though, and the kids dashing down the road had gone around him, instead of staying as far away from him as possible, and that had been extremely alarming.

He looked down absently at himself to make sure he still looked old and unsocial and paused.

His white beard was missing. So were the wrinkles in his hand. When had his old man disguise disappeared?! He touched his face, trying to feel his wrinkles. They weren't there.

He froze, his eyes wide.

He wouldn't believe it until— he stood up and looked all around. There had to be a reflecting surface nearby, these modern buildings had enough of them.

In the end, he came to a lake. A very familiar lake, but he couldn't think about that now. He had lost the ability to change into and out of disguises at his will years ago. He simply did not have enough strength to do the transformations. He was even a little grateful to be stuck as an old man. He crouched down and looked warily into the semi-clear water. Sure enough, he didn't look any older than 30. He stared at his own face for a long time, hardly believing it. He looked around, and seeing no one there, held out his hands and looked at them some more. He cupped them together and willed for it to work, not remembering the words. He saw his eyes flashing in the water, and knew that it had worked, decades after it had stopped.

As he saw the sparkling butterfly fly away over the lake, he knew it finally in his heart.

The terrible wait was almost at an end.  


***

  
Arthur had tried to leave as soon as they had reached the old man’s home but he had been forced to stay, the man insisting that he have a wash and some lunch before leaving.

“You cannot trample around with that thing on,” he had told Arthur, pointing at his armour. “People will think you’re the man from the legend.”

It had taken a moment to register what the man had said and Arthur had opened his mouth to ask, only to find himself with an armful of what looked like clothes, being pushed toward a smaller room.

“There, you can change into those. There’s fresh water in the bucket. Have a wash. I’ll get on with lunch,” the man had said.

Arthur had been wary of the broken down cottage, and the various unfamiliar objects inside it, so he had not touched anything, electing to use the bucket and splashing his face with some water before wiping it down. He had removed his armour and chainmail – no one else had seemed to be wearing armour on the roads – and changed into the clothes that he had been given.

When he came out to the sitting room, there was a plate of food waiting for him on the table.

“In case you were hungry,” the man said from the other end of the room. Arthur suddenly realized that he hadn’t even thought about food since he had come out of the lake, and suddenly he was ravenous. He saw that there was bread and some sort of yellowish stew on the plate, and heaved a mental sigh of relief – at least food wasn’t all that different from what he was used to.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, turning to look at him. He saw the man looking at him, trying to decide something. He didn’t know whether to ask, since he didn’t have many answers himself. He chose to eat instead.

Eventually the man spoke up.

“You know, in that costume of yours, you would have fulfilled the myth of the lake,” he said, walking up to sit at the table with his guest.

“Myth?”

“Yes. Of the old man who waits for his king and whatnot. Don’t you know of it?”

Arthur’s heart stopped, for those were very familiar words.

“The… The what, now?” he tried his best to not show too much interest.

“It’s a tale that people around here like to tell, you know. An old man has been waiting for centuries for his King because… I forget, was he his lover? His friend? Anyway, it is said that he has been waiting at the lake for a thousand years,” he said, eyes round.

Arthur was frozen with shock. Was it true? Merlin… waited?

Impossible!

He couldn’t imagine waiting for a thousand years. Had it been a thousand years? Was it more? But—

“Is the food alright? You seem to not like it.”

Arthur was shaken out of his thoughts, and he realized he had frozen. He thought idly about how he must look to this stranger right now.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said, breaking a piece of bread and chewing it slowly. It was no good, his throat had gone dry. “Can I have some water?” he said, voice croaked.

“Of course,” the man started to get up. Arthur put up his hands.

“Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll get it. Tell me where…”

The man pointed to a pitcher in the corner. “You’re a good lad,” he said. “What was your name, did you say?”

“It’s A—George. It’s George.” Arthur narrowly avoided giving out his own name. “Could you tell me more about this legend?”

“Well, that’s about the extent of it, I think. In fact, I think I met the old man when I was a lad myself,” the man told him, smiling at the reminiscence. “I was playing by the lake on my own. And he was just sitting there, looking at it.”

“But that could have been anyone,” Arthur interrupted, without thinking. “Sorry.”

“Yes, it could have been,” the man chuckled. “Which is why I asked him.”

Arthur was surprised. “You talked to him?”

“Yes, of course. As kids we had regular dares to go talk to him. It was almost like a rite of passing into adulthood.”

“Why, was he scary?”

“Well, he did look a little creepy, although now that I’m older myself I guess it wasn’t so bad. No, it was the whole being a warlock thing too. Mothers told their kids that he would come to scare us when the kids didn’t go to bed. Yeah, he’s quite the legend.”

Arthur stared, his mind stuck on one word. “W...Warlock?”

“Oh, it isn’t true,” the man said, mistaking Arthur’s expression for fear. “In fact, I asked him that day. He denied it.”

“You asked him if he was a warlock?”

“Something like that. I asked him if he could vanish little children.”

A part of Arthur wished he could have seen Merlin’s face at that. And then it hit him.

Merlin.

What if the man was Merlin? What if he had come back from the dead too? What if he had not died, but had actually waited for a thousand years for him?

He wouldn’t, would he?

He would. The absolute idiot.

Arthur stood up.

***

He set about making the journey, boat bobbing gently in the calm waters.

He did not know why, but something made him decide to cross the lake and go to that island in the middle. The universe seemed to agree with the voice in his head, and he had found the boat just waiting for him on the shore when he had arrived. Now, there was a gentle breeze blowing him towards the island, and he knew this was probably not how boats worked but he had too many other things to ponder over.

Something about this journey was bone-achingly familiar. His mind provided tiny flashes of images, which led him to believe that he had probably made this journey before, several times in fact, although it might have been a very long time ago.

The lone pillar in the distance looked like it was broken. It had not been so the last time, he recalled. Although, confusingly, he seemed to be looking at it from very far above, in one of his memories.

He gazed at the island, a sense of tranquillity washing over him.

He was nearly home.

***

  
“But nobody has seen the man in years,” the man called out, limping after him. Arthur almost felt bad to trouble the kind old man and make him plod around the countryside looking for a person who might not even be there.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly forced the man to come with him. He had been too curious and had followed Arthur of his own accord.

It would have irritated Arthur under normal circumstances, but now Arthur was grateful to have someone with him in this strange new world. It was quite a way but both of them had been too eager to notice the tiredness and before they realized it, they were at the lake.

“He used to sit on the bench over here, but it broke in that storm that one year,” the man panted, pointing to a broken structure on the ground. “He must have moved somewhere else. I’ve never seen him since.”

Arthur idly listened to him, his mind a thousand years away. That must have been why it took him so long to notice the island, but when he finally did, his heart stopped.

An island in the middle of the lake. The pillar was broken now, but he was sure he had seen it whole. He stared at it, transfixed, not able to tear his eyes away long enough to form the question.

Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“Oh yes, that is the Isle of the Blessed,” the old man said, when he noticed Arthur staring.

“Isle of the Blessed,” Arthur mouthed silently. The place he had died, wasn’t it? Did he even make it to the Isle? He wasn’t sure.

And yet, he was sure that all his questions would have answers there. He needed to get to the Isle of the Blessed.

“Right,” he said, nodding to himself. He looked for the old man. “I am in need of a boat.”

“What?”

“I need to get to that island. I need a boat.”

“Nobody goes to the Isle of the Blessed, lad. It is said to be haunted by spirits.”

Arthur almost smiled. Spirits. Now that seemed like the world he used to know. “I’m sure they won’t harm me.” Besides, Merlin would be there to protect him, wouldn’t he?

He turned around to look when there was no response from his companion. The man was looking at him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

At length he spoke. “Your name is not George, is it?”

Arthur smiled at him. “If you say so, sir.”

“Oh my,” the man seemed to be on the edge of hyperventilating. He muttered things to himself, looking all around. Arthur looked on a little warily, hoping he wouldn’t faint from excitement. He didn’t want to waste time carrying him back to the house.

After a minute or so, the man seemed to gather his wits. He suddenly got down on one knee with a little difficulty, and bowed his head.

“Prentice Humphrey, at your service my lord,” he said.

Arthur hastened to pull him up to his feet. “Please, there’s no need of all that. I’m not a king any longer.”

The man looked at Arthur with disbelief while he pulled him to his feet. He seemed to snap out of it after a few moments.

“A boat. Right. This way, erm, your highness.”

“Arthur. Please, I insist,” Arthur looked around hoping nobody saw the incident. “I don’t want people to find out—“

“Yes, of course. Um, this way, Arthur,” the man amended, leading Arthur away.  


***

The very first step on the island left him reeling. A few steps in, and he was swamped. He felt like he was on the verge of being swept away by a tsunami wave, something very weak and fragile holding it back, and he was not sure he wanted to be protected from the wave.

Maybe the ocean was where he did belong.

He idly noticed the boat bobbing away, but he couldn’t pay it much attention. He followed an invisible path toward the centre of the island, stopping before he got even halfway. He bent down and touched the ground, sure that he had sat at this same spot sometime in the past, holding…

He stretched his hands out in front of him, trying to imagine someone in his arms. He hadn’t even talked to anybody for as long as he cared to remember, let alone touched another person. And yet, he knew for a fact that he had held someone right there, someone who had been so very dear to him, someone who had left. Someone who had died. Someone who was supposed to come back. For whom he had been waiting.

The world seemed to heave around him. He closed his eyes against the onslaught. A whole lifetime of images flashed before him, rushing past one another, only a few of them lingering long enough for him to recognize. A hut at the edge of a village; a woman with a kind face and a soft, protective hand; a young boy with muddy brown hair and an impish grin on his face as they ran across the fields together; a castle bustling with activity; an old man with long white hair and wise face; a girl with skin as fair as milk and hair flowing like the darkest river; another girl with a soft voice and a helpful hand; a heartless king watching as a man gets executed at a courtyard; a young boy with frightened eyes, looking at him pleading for something; a handsome man with dark hair and the noblest disposition, turning to smile at him before walking through a veil; a wyvern, a unicorn, a dragon…

When the onslaught finally stopped, there was only one particular image that lingered on. A red cloak, armour and chainmail, golden hair, blue eyes, jaw set in determination. His prince, his king, his—

“Ar… Arthur,” he whispered, finally, opening his eyes, tears spilling over.  


***

  
“Pete!”

The man standing at the edge of the tiny harbour looked around at the sound.

“Prentice, is that you?” the man – Pete – called out. He saw them coming toward him and turned back to look out across the lake.

“You bird watching again, Pete?” the old man asked as they reached the harbour. Pete, however, didn’t look like he was in the mood for chatting. He was visibly upset.

“No, I think someone stole my boat,” he said, still trying to see over the lake.

“Stole your boat? Are you sure, mate?” the old man asked, looking at Arthur in dismay.

“I don’t know,” Pete replied, distressed. “I didn’t see anyone coming this way. But I went inside for – it wouldn’t have been a minute. I came back out, and it was gone!”

Arthur could have screamed in frustration. If Merlin was indeed there on that island like his gut feeling told him, he needed to get there. And soon.

He must have made some kind of sound, because the old man suddenly turned to him, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Don’t worry, your- Ar-, um, George,” he corrected himself quickly with a glance towards the boatman. “We’ll figure something out.”

Pete looked at Arthur for the first time. “Were you in need of a boat? I had only the one free today. And now it’s gone.”

Arthur let himself be consoled by the old man’s words, not really listening, looking out over the lake like the boatman. His eyes strayed over to the island involuntarily. Suddenly, he spotted something on the water.

“Hey, look. Is that your boat?” he asked, pointing to the structure.

“Wha—Yes! That is my boat!”

The man rushed to the edge of the harbour, the other two right behind him.

“It must have got loose and floated away, Pete,” the old man commented.

“That’s impossible. But I’ll go get some rope. Or I’ll have to swim out—“

“No, look,” Arthur interrupted him. “It’s coming towards us.”

It was true. The boat was floating seemingly on its own towards the harbour. The three men looked at it, momentarily unable to think of what to say.

“Alright then,” the boatman said at length. “Where do you want to take it?” he asked, looking at Arthur finally. “The City?”

“Er, no,” Arthur replied.

“We’re going to the Isle of the Blessed,” the old man replied before Arthur could think about coming up with a lie.

The other two turned to look at the old man.

“What? The island?” the boatman asked, horrified.

“Wait, did you say ‘we’?” Arthur asked, frowning.

The man looked from one to the other. He turned to the boatman first. “Yes, it is vitally important that this young man goes to the Isle. It is a matter of life and death. And,” he turned to Arthur, “you’re not going to abandon me now, are you? We’ve come this far,” he finished, pleading with both men.

“If my boat is going anywhere else today, then I’m going with it,” the boatman declared.

Arthur looked at them. He was distracted for a second when the boat finally reached them, hitting softly against the edge of the board where they stood.

Arthur looked at the two men, his patience running thin. “Look, do what you want, but I need to get to that island right this moment.”

And that was how Arthur found himself with two tag-alongs a few minutes later, rowing towards the Isle, only one thing on his mind now.

Merlin.

***

  
Arthur was vaguely aware of the other two people exchanging words but the rest of the world seemed to fall into the backdrop and he had eyes and ears for no one other than the man in front of him. His eyes could not believe the sight he was seeing. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the face he knew so well, that had been part of his dreams, his thoughts, his feelings even when he was supposed to be dead.

Merlin.

His feet took him forward, even as his mind was resisting believing his eyes. His servant, his sorcerer, his friend, after all this time.

In almost no time he was standing right in front of Merlin, who looked like he was seeing a ghost himself. Arthur's hand involuntarily reached towards the other man, touching his face tentatively, needing to touch to believe that he was actually there. As his hand touched skin, Merlin's slight trembling turned out into a full-fledged shudder. He was positively shaking, looking on the verge of breaking down. Arthur moved his hand from Merlin's cheek to grasp the back of his neck. He hauled him forward till their foreheads were resting against each other.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, afraid to break the spell that had settled around them. Merlin closed his eyes at the sound of his name, letting out an aborted sound between a laugh and a sob. Arthur found his breath coming out in short huffs, like he had just run a marathon. He didn't know what to say, he hardly remembered how words worked. They came out in bursts anyway.

"Did you... How long... You waited... Merlin—“ he broke off, his head not quite wrapped around what he was seeing, his mind refusing to start back up.

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted, and Arthur shut up, not knowing what he was expecting from Merlin, what he even had a right to expect. After his initial moment of thoughtlessness, he had almost dismissed the possibility of finding him here, or anywhere in this new world. And yet, somehow he had always known in his heart. 'It is my destiny to serve you, Arthur,' Merlin had said, but Arthur didn't know the extent of it until just then.

"Yeah?" he asked, wanting to hear Merlin's voice.

Merlin reached out to grab his shirt.

"What... what took you so long, you prat?" he said finally.

Arthur smiled despite himself, and finally folded him into his arms – his dearest friend, his destiny, his Merlin.  


***


End file.
